


Seal It With Ink

by agentx13 (rebelle_elle)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Tattoo parlor AU, sharon as a marine, sharon carter appreciation month, the guys as tattoo guys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-13
Updated: 2016-03-13
Packaged: 2018-05-26 10:23:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6234877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebelle_elle/pseuds/agentx13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sharon wants a second tattoo, she knows exactly where to go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seal It With Ink

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Sharon as a marine and Steve as an army vet/tattoo artist who she and others from her base sometimes go to.

For the first time in five months, Sharon Carter stood in the doorway of the tattoo parlor. She took a moment to take in the faintly musty smell underlying the intense scents from the candles. The parlor was small, with only four chairs. Every inch of the walls were covered by tattoo samples, or the finest work of the artists on staff. Some awards hung on the wall behind the counter.

“Hey, you look familiar,” the man behind the counter greeted her. He smiled. “I don’t mean that in a ‘Do you come here often’ kind of way.”

She shook her head. “It’s okay. I was in here a couple months ago. Sharon Carter.” She held out her hand. “I got my first tattoo from Rogers - a 2nd Reconnaissance Battallion one? - and wanted to schedule time to get another.”

“Oh, yeah! I remember you!” He nodded and gave her hand a firm shake. “I’m Sam Wilson.” He pulled out a notebook and opened it to a certain page. “When did you want to get the tattoo?”

“When does he have an opening?”

“Well, that would depend on what you want,” Sam said with a grin. 

She handed him a sketch with Roman numerals on it. “Back left shoulder, about a quarter of an inch.”

He raised his eyebrows. “That’s it?”

She frowned at him. “Yeah. Why?”

He shook his head. “I just... It isn’t a complicated tat at all. Shouldn’t take him long.” He tapped his pen against the paper. “Gimme a sec?” He stepped away, headed toward the back of the shop. “Hey, Steve? That customer you keep talking about is here and-”

The door swung shut, mercifully - or irritatingly - obscuring the rest of his words. Sharon glanced around the shop to see if anyone had heard and quickly pretended not to notice the man at the back chair on the left, his brown hair pulled back in a ponytail and his shoulders shaking with laughter.

Steve hurried out of the back, nearly tripping over a chair in his haste. He straightened. “Uh. Hi! Hi. Sharon, right? Sam said you wanted a tattoo?” He took a deep breath and set his hands on his hips. He briefly glared at the man in the back before turning back to her. “So... what did you want done?”

Honestly, if she hadn’t known better, she would think that this was the first time he’d spoken to a woman in his life. Nonetheless, she smiled. “Roman numeral.” She pointed to the spot on the back of her left shoulder. “Not big at all.” She held her fingers less than half an inch apart. “About that big? Sam has the sheet.”

Sam walked past, slapping the sheet against Steve’s chest. “Maybe stick around long enough for me to give it to you next time,” he suggested on his way back to the counter.

Steve stood frozen, clutching the sheet of paper to his chest. His eyes were wide as he blinked at Sharon. After a moment, he muttered, “Uh... good note, Sam.” He cleared his throat and tried to look more relaxed. Remembering what she was there for, he glanced at the sheet and quickly nodded to himself. “So,” he exclaimed, a little too loudly. “Uh. Want to take a seat now? I can do this in no time.”

The guy in the back coughing into his hand. It sounded a lot like, “Smooth!”

Sharon grinned softly and moved to his chair in the back, across from the other man’s. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Steve grab a business card from a side table and throw it at the man with the ponytail. She ignored it and pulled the collar of her T-shirt over her shoulder.

Steve sat on the stool behind her and rolled closer. “So... How have you been doing?”

“Good, thanks. You?”

“Good, good.” He cleaned her shoulder with antiseptic; Sharon tensed at the cold cotton balls. “Sorry,” Steve said quickly.

“No, it’s okay.”

The guy with the ponytail started humming a wedding tune. Sharon glanced at him; Steve full-on glared at him.

Sharon cleared her throat, then jumped the slightest bit at Steve’s light touch on her arm. On second thought, she realized, now was probably not a good time to ask what she’d come here to ask. 

“So how’ve you been since I - we, I mean, at the shop - last saw you?” Steve asked while he worked.

“You already asked that!” Sam shouted from the front.

“Still good,” Sharon answered, ignoring Sam. She might not have been able to hide her grin well enough.

Steve set the drawing and tattoo gun on the tray. “Excuse me.” He pushed his chair to the wall and turned his radio on. He looked past Sharon to the guy with the ponytail and slowly, intentionally turned the volume up.

Sharon raised her eyebrows. “Oldies?” she asked, loud enough to be heard.

Steve looked abashed for a moment. “I can change it!”

“No, no. It’s fine. I just thought a tattoo parlor might have different music. But this is good.”

His hand hovered over the dial for another couple seconds before he nodded to himself and wheeled back over. “So did you want this in black, or...”

“Black is good,” she said, nodding.

Steve nodded back.

Sharon realized they were doing nothing but looking at each other and nodding and quickly turned away, pulling her hair over her opposite shoulder.

“Okay,” Steve said. She wasn’t sure if it was to her or himself, but she bit her lip and didn’t turn around again. 

Sam and the other guy were professional enough not to distract him while he worked, and it wasn’t long before he was turning off his machine and wheeling over to turn down the radio. 

He grabbed two mirrors, handing one to her and holding the other next to her shoulder. “How’s that?”

She glanced at it, distracted by her thoughts, then made herself look again. She didn’t want to upset him. “It’s good. Thanks.”

He didn’t look crestfallen as he set aside the mirror. “Good.” He set the plastic over the mark and taped it down. “Sam can tell you about the aftercare.”

“I actually had a question,” she said abruptly. “I mean, I wanted the tattoo, but it was mostly an excuse to-” She paused and licked her lips. This wasn’t going the way she’d planned. Wasn’t that just perfect, a marine who was tripping over herself talking with a guy. “I’m going to go pay for the tattoo, and then I’m going to go... somewhere else. No. I’m going to go to the bar down the street.” Because one way or another, after this, she was going to need a drink. She swallowed. “And I hope you’ll be able to join me.”

She got to her feet and shut her mouth. Too often, shutting the hell up was the only way she had of not showing everyone what a dork she was. She didn’t look at Steve and carefully kept herself from even looking in his direction.

Sam, however, did not hide that he was looking at the both of them. To his credit, he filled her in on aftercare and finished the transaction in record time. No sooner was he done than she was out the door, sliding her card back into her pocket and striding, cool and collected, toward the bar.

As soon as she got past the windows of the tattoo parlor, she leaned against the wall. Hands on her hips, she took a deep breath. “Jesus Christ,” she muttered.

She allowed herself to glance back, only to see that Sam had moved to the window and was watching her.

“Jesus _Christ._ ”

Sam waved awkwardly.

She hesitated, waved back just as awkwardly, then spun on her heel and kept walking.

She was nursing a beer at the counter and considering which burger would be best to smother herself with when someone slipped into the seat beside her. She turned to them, already prepared to tell off whatever low-life was going to try to hit on her. The words died in her throat. 

“Sorry I’m late,” Steve said quickly. “I had to clean my area.” He picked up a menu, disturbing a propped-up drink special sign, and hurried to catch it. While he focused on the sign, his menu fell to the floor, and he jumped off the stool to grab it.

“I’m sorry, too,” she told him. “The main reason I wanted the tattoo was so I could see you again.”

“I’m glad you did,” Steve admitted, sitting firmly on his stool and planting his menu in front of him. He seemed like he meant to keep himself from being a klutz by willpower alone. “You didn’t leave your phone number last time.” He glanced at her.

She smiled back. “I think I can rectify that.”

Steve grabbed a napkin and a pen from behind the bar. This time, he managed not to knock anything over. “Just so I don’t miss another chance.”

Her smile grew, and she took the napkin and pen from him to write down her number. “We wouldn’t want that, would we."


End file.
